


A Good and Honorable Man

by Taste_is_Sweet



Series: Dread and Darling Boys [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bingo, Community: hc_bingo, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Season/Series 01, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:08:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1809694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You don't think Captain America should be culled. And you're right." Agent Taylor takes a deep breath and she looks sad. She clasps her hands together. "But we're trying to save the world, Ward. We're working so hard for that, we have been for a very long time. And the thing is, for us to save the world, it means that some good and honorable people will have to die."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good and Honorable Man

**Author's Note:**

> This story fills the **Bruises** square of my [Hurt/Comfort Bingo](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/) [card](http://taste-is-sweet.livejournal.com/85941.html).

He wakes up on the restraint table, already screaming.

The table is usually only to repair his arms between missions. This is the first time he's been strapped down here for punishment since Agent Taylor said he'd completed his training. He remembers all the times he was punished this way when he was being trained, when he wasn't a good soldier and he didn't do what Agent Taylor told him to. He does what he's told now.

Except this time, the reason he's on the restraint table again is a gaping hole in his memory. He's sure he must've done something terrible, though, because the pain isn't from cuts or burns but from his own arms, which is so much worse. The neck restraint is loose enough to allow him to turn his head, and he can see the open panels on his right arm and the wires snaking out. It's the same with his left. Every few seconds all the muscles in his body spasm like he's being electrocuted. He can barely catch his breath in between.

The pain is unendurable, but he has to endure it. He can't pass out—whatever the doctor does to his arms makes that impossible. He can't block it out or work past it or ignore it, not like this. Not when it's the only thing happening to him; the only thing he can think about. He can't speak to beg, even if there were anyone to listen. He can't die. All he can do is lie here and scream and scream and scream.

He is nothing like this. Less than nothing: a shuddering slab of flesh that exists only to take this agony. Agent Taylor knows he will do anything she wants to make it stop, just like he knows it won't stop until she wants it to. And it goes on, and it goes on, until his throat burns and he's too tired to scream and the cycles follow each other so quickly that the world fades because he doesn't have enough time to breathe anymore. And then at last it stops.

Agent Taylor comes in with Doctor Meier. Doctor Meier gives him oxygen, while Agent Taylor undoes the restraints around his neck and chest and arms. He's drenched with sweat, eyes streaming, and he can't stop whimpering like an animal. Every part of him aches, but he's so exhausted that he doesn't realize his eyes have slid shut until he suddenly startles awake like someone's thrown ice water on him.

He still has wires coming from his arms, but these aren't to hurt him, just to keep him awake. He's worried that Agent Taylor's going to leave him like this for days again. He's already so tired. And he knows that if she won't let him sleep, she won't feed him either. If he's lucky, hopefully the punishment he just went through is enough.

Agent Taylor nods at Doctor Meier and the other woman steps aside. Agent Taylor comes closer, so that she's standing by Ward's shoulder and looking down at him.

"I'm sorry," Ward says. His voice is so raw that he doesn't think she can hear it through the oxygen mask.

"Shh. It's all right," she says. Doctor Meier removes the oxygen mask, then Agent Taylor uses a damp cloth to wipe the sweat and tears and snot off his face. She presses a button on the side of the table and the part of it behind his back lifts so he's sitting up. Since his arms are free, he's careful not to dislodge the wires. After that she holds a cup of water for him and lets him drink as much as he wants.

"I'm sorry," he says again. "I'm really sorry."

"I know," Agent Taylor says. She smiles at him and pushes the wet hair off his forehead, gentle with him the way she always is. "I know you are, my poor, brave boy. I hated seeing you like that, in so much pain. But it's over now. It's all gone. I forgive you."

The relief makes his breath shudder. "Thank you."

She smiles again, but she straightens and steps back. He feels cold now, where she was just touching him. "Do you remember what you did?"

His heart jolts with a sudden stab of fear. "No," he shakes his head. "No. I don't. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I've been trying—"

"Ward," Agent Taylor says, and he stops speaking like the air's gone solid in his lungs. "It's all right," she says again. "You're not supposed to remember. I just wanted to be certain you didn't."

Ward stares at her, uncomprehending. This has never happened before either. He doesn't know what to say, what she wants from him. He has no idea what he could have done that would be so awful Agent Taylor wouldn't want him to remember it. If he doesn't remember, how can she make sure he never does it again?

His breathing quickens as panic creeps up his spine. If he does it again they'll put him back on the restraint table, but he doesn't know what not to do. He doesn't know, so he can't stop it. And if he can't stop it he might do it again and then he'll be hurt and he doesn't _want_ to do it again but if he doesn't know how can he not?

He can hear Agent Taylor speaking to him, and he tries to listen, tries to do what she wants, to be good so she won't have to hurt him again. But he can't understand her and all he can think is that maybe what he did wrong was not listening and he's not listening now even though he's trying and he's already on the restraint table and his ankles and legs are still trapped and maybe they're going to hurt him again and he knows he deserves it but please not again please please please—

The restraints close around his wrists and lock with a click he can hear even through his pleading and the slamming of his heart, and the terror that roars through him makes him twist and yank at the metal before he remembers that he must never, ever do that. Another thing he learned during his training: fighting his punishment just makes whatever's coming worse. But instead of more pain, his brain is flooded with peace and reassurance and calm. He's not afraid anymore. He knows everything is fine.

"That's better," Agent Taylor says, and he can hear her again. She sighs. "Damn it. Wake him up."

His eyes snap open.

"There you are." Agent Taylor's smile is thin. "Are you with me now? I need to know that you're tracking, Ward. This is important."

He nods. "I'm sorry. I'm here."

"Good." She straightens, crosses her arms. "I need you to pay attention. I know you don't remember what you did—which was done purposefully," she adds before Ward can start worrying again. "But I know you remember what your mission is, since we only removed the incident. So, I need you to tell me what it is that you find so objectionable about killing Steve Rogers."

His instinct is to deny it, to tell her he has no problem with his mission so she'll let him get up. But he knows what will happen if he lies to her.

So, "He's good," Ward says. He licks his dry lips, searching for the right words so she won't be angry, but he's exhausted and he doesn't think this has ever come easy to him. "He's…good." He grimaces, grits his teeth as he tries to explain. "He's necessary. The country needs him. He doesn't deserve to die."

Agent Taylor looks at him a long moment, and he can't tell what she's thinking. "I see," she says at last. She laces her fingers under her chin, still watching him. She doesn't look angry, but he's not sure, so he keeps his face blank and doesn't say anything.

"You're right," she says, and he can't help blinking at her in surprise. "You're absolutely right. Steve Rogers is a good and honorable man, and he doesn't deserve to die. Not like that defense minister. That wasn't undeserved, that was a culling."

He nods. He hates thinking about that mission. He doesn't remember it, but he knows something bad happened.

"But you don't think Captain America should be culled. And you're right." Agent Taylor takes a deep breath and she looks sad. She clasps her hands together. "But we're trying to save the world, Ward. We're working so hard for that, we have been for a very long time. And the thing is, for us to save the world, it means that some good and honorable people will have to die."

Ward swallows. "That…that's not fair."

"Of course it's not fair," Agent Taylor says earnestly. "It's incredibly, cruelly unfair. But it has to be this way." She steps closer. "The problem with the world is that everyone wants freedom. They all want to make their own decisions and do whatever they want. But most people don't really know what that means. We do. We understand that if you give people too much freedom, they're going to make bad decisions." She cards her fingers through Ward's damp hair, smiling wistfully. "That's why good parents punish their children when they misbehave. That's why I punish you. Otherwise, how will you know when you're being bad?" She caresses his face, then holds his chin, just tightly enough to be painful. "I only punish you because I care about you, Ward. You understand that, don't you? That you're too precious to be free?"

He waits until she lets go of him to nod. "I understand. Thank you."

She smiles, but steps back again, and her expression becomes very serious. "Captain America is a good and honorable man, but he represents all the freedom that people think they understand but really don't. We're striving for order and safety for everyone, but when people look at him, they see a symbol that it's okay to do whatever they want. But it's not okay, is it?" She pauses until Ward shakes his head. "People need to be controlled."

Agent Taylor sighs. "I hadn't wanted you to see this, because I thought it would upset you too much. That's why we wiped you—because I know this isn't anything you'd want to remember. But I think you need to see it, to understand exactly how bad too much freedom is."

He watches her, eyes wide, as Agent Taylor deliberately undoes her jacket, then the last four buttons of her immaculate white blouse underneath. When she spreads the cloth, there's a very large bruise on her abdomen, right over her navel and dark and ugly next to the smooth brown of her skin. "You did this, Ward. You did this when you became so agitated during a sparring session that Agent Delgado asked me to intervene. You also beat Agents Bramwell and Lochlan so severely that they required surgery, but that's their fault for not doing better. I expect you to fight to the best of your ability, always. But this is why you were punished—because you attacked me when I tried to talk to you."

"I—I attacked you?" he whispers, gaping. He shakes his head. "No. No, I wouldn't. I wouldn't—"

But Agent Taylor just nods solemnly. "I'm afraid you did. You came at me." She swallows. "If Bramwell and Lochlan hadn't been there…"

"Oh, God. I'm sorry!" He shrinks back against the metal of the restraint table. He couldn't—he _couldn't_ —have done that. He wouldn't. Not ever. Not to her. Agent Taylor looks after him. He eats because of her, gets his wounds treated and his arms repaired. She's the one who allows him to sleep and gives him his missions and determines his punishment. She's _everything._ And he wouldn't have hit her. Not ever. Not for anything.

But he did. He did, and all because he's so uncomfortable with the idea of killing Captain America that he lost control. Now he understands why Agent Taylor needed to hurt him like this.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," he says, voice shuddering. He tears his eyes away from the awful wound, but he's too ashamed to look Agent Taylor in the eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't—" But he can't finish the sentence because he doesn't know if he meant to hurt her or not. Maybe he did. Maybe he could actually have done this on purpose.

"Look at me, Ward," Agent Taylor says.

He does.

"This is why no one can have too much freedom," she says. "Eventually people lash out like animals, just like you did. We can't let that happen." She briskly re-buttons her shirt as she speaks. " _You_ can't let that happen. You're our best asset against that kind of chaos. That's why we chose you. And that's why I know you'll stop acting like an undisciplined child and do what needs to be done."

"I will." He nods desperately. "I'm sorry. I'll do better. I promise."

"I know." She graces him with another smile and for a moment it feels like the sun's come out. "Except…" She frowns. "There's still at least a month between now and when everything will be in place for your mission. What if you forget why it's so important again?" Her eyes widen. "What if you hurt me?"

"I won't!" Just the idea of it makes him sick. "I won't. I promise."

"I want to believe you. But a month is a long time." She puts her hand on her chin, looking around the room. "Maybe there's some way you could make sure…?"

He follows where she's looking, and he realizes immediately what he needs to do. "Use the cylinder," he says. "I won't have a chance to—to do anything, that way." His stomach is empty but it still lurches at the thought of having to even step in there. It hurts like hell when his temperature drops, and reviving him is worse. He's never volunteered for it before. It's the one thing they still have to force him to do.

But he'll walk into the cylinder and stay in cyrostasis for the rest of his life, if it means he won't hurt Agent Taylor again.

And the way she beams at him lets him know he's made the right decision; he's made up for attacking her. Everything will be all right again.

"I'm so proud of you," she says, and he's so relieved, so happy.

* * *

Agent Taylor is kind. He knows he can't eat before cryostasis, but she permits him to be escorted to his quarters to wash and sleep and let his body heal before he'll go into the cylinder in the morning.

He wants to sleep, but he can't. Now that he's alone and no longer in pain, there's something that's tugging at him that won't let him sleep. Something…

His eyes open wide in the complete darkness of his room. The bruise. Something about the bruise.

It's nothing. It has to be nothing. But Agent Taylor said they'd only wiped the incident from his mind, and that's true. He remembers sparring with Bramwell and Lochlan. He doesn't remember thinking about his mission, or getting angry because of it. He doesn't remember Delgado calling Agent Taylor. But Agent Taylor said they wiped him, so it makes sense that all that would be gone.

But, the bruise.

He sparred with Bramwell and Lochlan. He doesn't remember what happened before he woke up screaming, but he remembers that. He remembers how he fought them, where and how he hit. He knows that they always wear armored vests because otherwise his augmented fists would go right through their ribs.

He's much taller than Agent Taylor. If he attacked her, it would've been easier to go for her chest or her head, not her abdomen. And she wouldn't have only one bruise. He'd have broken her ribs. He'd have broken her _neck._

She said he attacked her. Not hit, _attacked._ But if he really had, she wouldn't be alive.

Ward knows how good he is at killing.

I'm wrong, he thinks. I'm wrong, I have to be wrong. But he's not. She said he attacked her. But she only has one bruise and she's still alive.

Agent Taylor lied to him.

He stares up into the darkness and thinks: she lied, she lied, beating like the thud of his pulse in his head. But he can't get farther than that. He feels like a rat on a wheel, like he's still on the restraint table with his whole body spasming in pain again and again and again.

Agent Taylor looks after him. She gave him his name. She's the one who's always there when it's time to give him a mission or when he comes back to base or when he wakes up after the chair or wakes up screaming.

She can't have lied to him. She's his chief handler and his flail and his anchor. Without her he's nothing. A slab of flesh. A vessel for pain. Useless. Expendable. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

She can't have lied to him.

He gets up, finds his way easily to the single door even in the darkness. It locks from the outside but he's strong enough to smash the lock, even though it damages his right hand. The lights are on outside his quarters and for a moment it's blinding, but he hears the siren and knows he doesn't have much time.

He's kept on the second floor of the facility, but he knows the senior agents go to the sixth. He also knows they're assuming he's trying to escape again. He only tried that a few times before they trained him, but he still remembers the routes well enough to use it to his advantage now. No one expects him to go up, not when the only exits are in the basement of the building.

He's not trying to get out.

There are only two agents at the nearest elevator, because they assumed he'd go for the stairs. He's very careful to only incapacitate the agents, not kill them. He doesn't want to hurt anyone. 

It's very easy to climb the elevator shaft up four floors, even with a loose right thumb. He has a feeling it would never have been hard, but this is no work at all, pulling himself up with his metal arms.

They tracked him here, of course, but the agents waiting for him don't risk using their tasers or shooting him when he might fall down the elevator shaft. That gives Ward an advantage, one he badly needs in that narrow space. He can't avoid killing one or two of them during the fight, even though he's not trying to.

He takes out ten before one manages to shoot him in the leg. 

He barely feels the impact but when he tries to pivot on that leg he feels the femur shatter and he goes down. He lands hard on his side and he knows he's done even before the remaining agents swarm him and hold him down. One of them slaps something on his right arm that adheres like a magnet and his arm just goes dead, stops working. Another one does the same thing to his left.

There's blood soaking into the flimsy cotton of the drawstring pants they give him to sleep in, and he can see part of the bone sticking up through the skin. It still barely hurts at all, especially compared to the restraint table. But there's a lot of blood. He thinks maybe the artery's cut. 

He wonders if he's going to die here, if they'll let him bleed out on the floor. Cut their losses and find someone else who won't fail or have second thoughts; someone Agent Taylor won't have to lie to.

At least if he dies he won't be punished, and being dead doesn't hurt.

He can feel himself greying out when one of the agents throws a tourniquet around his thigh. That actually hurts for some reason, but Ward can't move with his arms dead and the other agents holding him down.

The pain helps ground him, though, so he hears the telltale click of Agent Taylor's shoes as she comes down the hallway.

"Let him go," she says to the agents. She glances at Ward's leg. "Has anyone called the surgeons?" she adds with a kind of mildness that would make him cringe if it were directed at him. "Good."

Agent Taylor crouches down next to Ward's head. She looks down at him, her expression suffused with disappointment. "What is this, Ward?" she asks with the same mildness.

It feels like it takes all the strength he has left just to look her in the eye. "You lied." Saying the words hurts more than the tourniquet on his leg. "I didn't attack you. Why did you lie?"

She blinks, then kneels so she can bend closer to him. "Oh, sweetheart," she says. Her smile is faint but she looks…proud? Maybe proud. She smoothes the hair back from his forehead. "So you would voluntarily go into cyrostasis, of course. It's so much easier to control you when you think it's your choice. Of course you didn't attack me—I would've had you killed."

She stands up, looks at his leg then purses her lips. He can hear the elevator open and two of the medical technicians come out pushing a gurney. "That was slow," she snaps at them.

He's still staring at her in shock when they lift him onto the gurney, moving carefully the way they always do when they're not trying to hurt him. But Agent Taylor doesn't look at him again. She takes out her phone and talks over his head like he's not even there. Like he's nothing.

"Yes, I know it'll have to be replaced," she says into the phone as she steps into the elevator with them. "Have them do both. Because three out of four limbs is bullshit, that's why. If I wanted the Winter Soldier I'd have made him speak Russian. So reinforce his spine and pelvis. We have the Weapon X specs and equipment." She closes the call and shakes her head. "Seriously, it's like they think he's sacred, or something." She smirks. "Inviolate." 

The elevators open and she walks with them down the corridor.

She looks at him again, then tsks. "It's okay," she says. She uses her fingers to gently wipe his eyes. "I know you don't understand. But what I told you before, about good and honorable people needing to die to save the world? That's true. I never lied about that. But what I didn't tell you is that sometimes, good and honorable people have to suffer to save the world, too." She smirks again, and he knows it's at him. "Of course, you're not good and honorable, are you? You came to us a monster and we just made you into a better one." She caresses his cheek. "But you're so innocent now, all empty like this. It's almost the same thing."

She stands aside as they reach the doors to the room with the restraint and operating tables. "Make sure to wipe him as well," she says to the techs. "And prep him for cyrostasis."

The last thing he sees before they push him into the room is Agent Taylor walking away.

* * *

He wakes up wet and shivering and puking bile. His arms are like blocks of ice that make his entire upper body hurt like hell. His new legs are stabbing icicles all the way up his spine. He doesn't remember how he got so badly injured that he lost both his legs.

He remembers his mission. It's just a few days away now. Agent Taylor let him out of the cylinder early so he can rest and finish healing. She's so good to him.

She tells him that he was terribly wounded on his last mission, but that he did an excellent job and she's proud of him. She tells him that he's a good soldier, the most valuable Asset they've ever had. She tells him she knows this next task will be difficult, but that he's brave and he understands why it's so important and she's certain he won't fail.

He believes her.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> With belated but heartfelt thanks for [Brumeier](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier) and her awesome husband, who both helped me work out a difficult plot point.


End file.
